The Langdon Tapes
by whodreamedit
Summary: Tate Langdon: Murderous psychopath or adorable cuddlebunny?  A TV station has been granted the rights to exclusive interviews with Tate and the other occupants of Murder House.  Where will the madness end?
1. Chapter 1

Tate walks into the studio, hands in his pockets, expression slightly baffled. It seems weird, that people are so interested in him. Being on TV is something that happens to famous people; rock stars, novelists, murder victims.

A producer leads him to a chair. A few people fuss around trying to make his hair less 'foofy'. It's mildly irritating, kind of like having a swarm of insects buzzing around you. He's tempted to swat them away, but they move off of their own accord soon enough. He wonders if his hair is still foofy. He suspects it is.

The interviewer is young, blonde, with a chipped front tooth that she's obviously self conscious about. She keeps half-smiling, then remembering about it – pulling her top lip over her teeth like a horse. Or Sarah Jessica Parker. He smirks.

"We're on in five," a camera man points a giant lens towards Tate. He stars down the barrel of the camera, to the blackness at its centre. This will be his legacy. The Langdon Tapes.

"And we're here in the studio with Tate Langdon, the teenage boy who shot up his school, then shot up our hearts!"

There's that tooth again. Her lip closes over it awkwardly. She looks like she's trying to eat her own face. Tate smirks.

The studio audience is applauding enthusiastically.

Well, okay. Maybe he's sort of famous after all.

"Now for the first time, and with some pretty impressive new technology, our network has been granted exclusive interviews with Tate, his friends, his family and his victims! Tate," she turns towards him, smiling toothlessly. "Welcome to the show."

The audience applauds again. Tate stares wide eyed down the black eye of the camera. He smiles. Someone in the audience squeals. It sounds kind of like someone stepped on a kitten. He smiles again.

"So Tate," the interviewer begins, as the applause dies away. "Tell us – some people are a little unclear. Do you actually remember shooting up your school?"

Tate grins, running a hand through his hair sheepishly, as if the interviewer has asked him a slightly embarrassing question, like whether he wears boxers or briefs.

"You know, it's a weird thing – " he shrugs looking out into the audience. "I know I did it, sure…"

"But you don't remember doing it?"

"Not exactly. It's kinda like it happened to someone else. Or like you're remembering a dream, you know? So I know I did it…I'm trying to accept that. But it's not something I really remember happening."

"So how do you know you did it? Because of the visions you talked about with your psychiatrist, Ben Harmon?"

"Right, right…" Tate nods, pulling the ends of his sleeves over his hands. "I kept having these visions and I guess I didn't really understand what they were, but I've come to realise that they're actually memories. I guess I blacked out and don't remember." He smiles goofily, as if he's confessing to accidentally eating that pie you left cooling on your window sill. A few people in the audience laugh.

The interviewer shuffles her notes. "And what do you make of the people who think you do remember – that you absolutely know what you did, but that you're pretending not to for some reason?"

Tate raises his eyebrows, kicking one leg up to rest on his knee.

"Why would I lie about it?" he asks, smoothly.

"Well…" the interviewer seems hesitant now. "Some people think you're trying to cover up your darkness – hide it from certain people."

"Like who?" he presses.

"Violet!" someone from the audience yells out. There's a murmur through the crowd. The interviewer looks out into the audience, silencing them with a look.

"Violet?" Tate looks out into the crowd. "Is that what you guys said?" he laughs "…Violet doesn't need me to cover up my darkness for her. If I remembered what I'd done, I'd tell her. We don't keep secrets."

"Because you love her?"

"Absolutely." Tate nods, earnestly. His expression is open, honest. "I love her. You don't keep secrets from the people you love."

"Even if you think it might protect them?"

"Violet doesn't need that, either. She's a strong girl…you'll see that when you talk to her. She's capable. She's got plenty of darkness inside her, herself. She's not scared of me….shouldn't be scared of me." He corrects himself, seamlessly. There's a small murmur in the crowd.

"Do you think that's why she was attracted to you? Because of your darkness?"

"You mean because she recognised something about herself in me?" Tate leans back in the armchair thoughtfully. "Could be I guess. Well, that and the fact that I'm ridiculously attractive. Or cute. Am I cute?" he waggles his eyebrows at the interviewer. "I'm cute, right?"

"I LOVE YOU TATE!" someone screams out. The audience laughs.

Tate smiles, all perfect white teeth.

"I guess if it doesn't work out with Violet, you've got plenty to choose from." The interviewer quips.

"I know, right?" Tate jerks his thumb towards the audience "…I saw some girl wearing a 'Take me, Tate!' t-shirt….and you know, I was like…take her where?" he winks.

The interviewer laughs, then closes her mouth hurriedly.

"…and the girl in her underwear."

"There was a girl in her underwear?" Tate widens his eyes, turning around in his chair to eye off the audience. "Seriously? One of you is half naked?"

"Yup. Yeah. She'd written 'property of Tate Langdon' on stomach, in paint…well, I think it was paint…" the interviewer laughs awkwardly.

"Sure. Paint." Tate grins "Well, you know…if I'm claiming ownership of something, usually I prefer a more visceral kind of ink."

"What? Like blood?"

"Blood. Saliva. Other bodily fluids." He quirks an eyebrow.

"So you're not going to take her up on her offer, then?"

"You can mark her 'return to sender'. Actually, send her to the murder house. I think Doctor Harmon has a few vacancies today."

"Oh snap!" someone calls out from the crowd.

"You think he could slot her in?" the interviewer grins.

"I think she could slot him in, sure."

The cameraman signals to the interviewer, who turns to face the camera.

"And we've got to take a break, but we'll be back after a few words from our sponsors! Coming up we'll talk to Tate about murder and regret, and later on we'll be chatting to the lovely Violet Harmon! Stay tuned!"

The show rolls to commercial break.

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	2. Chapter 2

**AN: ** I thought it might be fun to allow a little bit of 'audience participation' in this fic. So, if you'd like a cameo, let me know by reviewing! Tate (and the other AHS characters) can answer your questions and respond to your heckling!

This fic is obviously a bit of a parody of the fandom, but hopefully in a fun, 'ha ha we're all a bit derpy!' sort of way. Any resemblance to anons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

* * *

><p>The interviewer is curiously silent as the cameras begin to roll. And she's not smiling. She looks decidedly nervous.<p>

Tate grins broadly.

"Er, the suit…" the interviewer raises an eyebrow.

Tate grins even wider.

"Neat, isn't it?" he smooths a hand down his latex-clad chest. "Comfy. Very streamlined."

"It's, er…."

"Slimming, don't you think?"

A small 'wooooo!' can be heard from the audience, but it is rapidly quashed by the oppressive silence of utter disapproval.

"Right. Sure." The interviewer shuffles her papers awkwardly. "So um…we were going to talk about Violet."

"Sure." Tate smiles sweetly, leaning back in the chair with an audible _squeak. _The latex suit looks almost wet in the brightness of the studio lighting. "What about her?"

"DOES SHE KNOW YOU FUCKED HER MOM!" someone yells from the audience.

The camera pans to sweep across the distressed faces of the audience members. Some are weeping softly into handkerchiefs. Others seem to have been permanently frozen mid-gasp, mouths hanging open, eyes wide, noses wrinkled (just like your mom always told you would happen if the wind changed). One woman holds up a sign which reads, in large, hastily scrawled letters "HIDE YA KIDS, HIDE YA WIFE".

Tate is amused.

"Well I uh…let's not…I would have phrased it a bit more…" the interviewer stammers.

"Of course she doesn't know!" Tate smirks "You think I'm stupid? Shit. It's not like I _planned _this whole thing."

"Well uh…what did you - …why did you do it?" the interviewer stammers.

Tate gives her a pitying look. It's not her fault she's too dim to understand the depth of his benevolence and mercy, after all. She's just a bit slow. Poor girl.

"Well, I did it for Nora mostly."

"For Nora?"

"The lady ghost in the house. She lost her baby. She was sad about it. So I thought I'd get her a new one. And babies don't, you know, tend to wander about by themselves. Besides I couldn't just steal her any old baby. I wanted to get her a nice new one. Otherwise it's just like re-gifting, you know?" he folds his arms across his chest "…and that's tacky."

The audience seems slightly nonplussed by this explanation.

"…and you didn't think it might be a bit…uh…wrong, because of Vi-"

Tate throws up his hands in exasperation.

"Well I wasn't dating Violet at the time, was I!"

"Er, weren't you?"

"No! God, do you think I'm sick?"

There is a pregnant silence.

"So, you uh…with Vivien…and then you um…fell in love with Violet?"

"Right." Tate agrees "…but it's not like what happened with Vivien _meant _anything. It was just a means to an end. I was just doing a favour for a friend. So I don't think Violet really has to know. Vivien pops out a few babies, I give them to Nora, Violet and I get married and live in the basement forever. Everyone's happy."

"I don't think yo-"

"Everyone. Is. Happy." Tate glares at her.

Someone in the audience chooses that precise moment to start weeping profusely.

Another calls out "YOU KILLED THAT ONE GUY!"

Tate pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. He strokes his chin, lost in a few seconds of contemplative silence.

"Yes." He decides, at length "Yes, yes I did."

"And wh…why did you do that, Tate?" the interviewer stammers.

Tate rolls his eyes. He is growing tired of the elementary questions posed by this feeble minded woman. She puts him in mind of Ben Harmon. Only sexier. And with a dryer face.

"Well, they weren't going to leave the house on their own, were they?" he sighs heavily "…and they weren't making a baby. And also they were annoying. The little dark one had a really nasal voice. And they hated each other _anyway _so it kind of seemed like the kinder thing to do. I put them out of their misery." He smiles, content that he has adequately justified his double homicide.

"We thought you were nice!" squeals one girl in the front row.

"…in fairness," the interview interjects "…he did massacre an entire library full of teenagers."

"I **am **nice!" Tate retorts.

"SEX ME IN THE RUBBER SUIT, TATE!" someone else yells.

The room is clearly divided.

"Well er, why don't we bring on Violet Harmon?" the interviewer smiles. Her mouth resembles a watermelon that has been viciously stabbed with a letter opener: open, but not exactly happy.

The band starts up some cheesy intro music as Violet walks onto set. She looks disgruntled. It's obvious she'd much rather be doing just about anything else than giving some ridiculous TV interview. Her mustard coloured cardigan is unbuttoned and falls loosely around her shoulders. Her skirt reaches almost to the floor. If there was a dress code specified for this event, Violet has most certainly ignored it.

"Violet!" the interviewer seems to brighten a little as Violet takes her seat. Here, at least, is someone who hasn't shoved a poker up a dude's butt. "So nice to have you with us."

"Yeah." Violet replies, unenthusiastically. She looks sidelong at Tate, making a face at him. "Why are you wearing that creepy suit again?"

"BECAUSE HE'S RUBBERM-" someone begins to yell.

Tate hastily clamps his hands over Violet's ears. He shoots the heckler a poisonous look.

Violet smiles dopily and makes no indication that she has even the faintest idea what's going on.

"Um…so…" the interviewer attempts to restore some semblance of normalcy to the interview. "Violet…"

Tate cautiously uncovers Violet's ears.

"Violet…what did you think when you first met Tate?"

Violet shrugs nonchalantly.

"Mostly I was thinking; 'What's this weird dude doing in my bathroom.'. I thought he was kind of creepy – skulking around my house, giving me pro-tips on how to kill myself."

"BECAUSE HE'S RUBBERM-" the heckler yells, again.

Tate clamps his hands over Violet's ears a second time. He stares out into the audience, mouthing 'I will END you', soundlessly.

If Violet has noticed Tate's hands over her ears, she doesn't show it. She smiles vacantly.

The interviewer is clearly struggling to remain on track.

"And um…did you uh – when did you realise that you um…."

Violet leans forward in her chair.

"WHAT!" she yells "Sorry, I can't really hear you…"

Tate removes his hands.

"Oh, that's better." Violet smiles.

"Right um…would you say you're in love with Tate?"

Violet looks from the interviewer to Tate, then back again. She blushes slightly, reaching a hand up to brush the hair out of her eyes.

"Oh er…I dunno. Uh…that's kind of personal."

"YOU DON'T DESERVE HIM!" someone screeches, from the audience.

Violet wrinkles her nose and stares out into the crowd.

"…what did you say, bitch?" she demands.

Tate grins like a kid who just got let loose in a candy store.

The woman in the audience steps down towards the stage. She is small, and wears a t-shirt that proclaims her to be 'Tatesexual'.

Violet snorts, and covers her mouth with her hand in an attempt to hide her obvious amusement.

Tate thinks this is just about the best thing to have happened to him in recent memory.

"I _said _you don't DESERVE Tate!" the woman yells "He's beautiful and divine and practically a genius and he's _so _too good for you, you ridiculous, angsty bitch! You don't even appreciate him at all! And you can't even BEGIN to comprehend the depth of his soul – the level of his poetic anguish!" she flails dramatically "…your soul is in it's mere infancy, whilst Tate's frolicks amongst the Gods!"

"YEAH!" yells out our favourite heckler "Also, HE IS RUBBERMA-"

Tate smooshes Violet's hair over her ears.

"Alright." He says, darkly. "That's about enough."

The audience falls silent. Tate releases Violet, and stands up slowly. There is a menacing gleam in his eye.

"Weeeee're….gonna cut to a commercial break." The interviewer babbles, hastily, into a camera.

* * *

><p>Feeling low? Full of woe? Visit BEN HARMON, qualified psychiatrist and kind of a good listener, sometimes… - will work for lifetime supply of Kleenex.<p> 


End file.
